


Whispers

by faaf_foof



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bad Ending, Dubious Consent, M/M, Shulk-centric, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:20:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24659020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faaf_foof/pseuds/faaf_foof
Summary: After the events of Mechonis Core, Shulk finds himself with a lot to think about. Unbeknownst to his friends, he spirals deeper and deeper into his unhealthy habits until he is set on a path of ruin.Bad end oneshot
Relationships: Shulk/Zanza (Xenoblade Chronicles)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	Whispers

**Author's Note:**

> warning: this fic is dark. watch out for violence and death mostly. 
> 
> so yeah. took a break from my shulk/zanza bad end fic to write a shulk/zanza bad end fic. who would have guessed

When visions of doomed futures began to flood Shulk’s mind, it was easy to spiral into obsession. 

After each, Shulk scribbled all that he could remember into his notebook- the time of day, environment, and most importantly, the inevitable accident that lead to death- sloppily categorizing it all in a desperate attempt not to forget. Shulk had no choice but to remember. He had to protect his friends.

Writing about the visions didn’t always help, however. Sometimes Shulk had nightmares about risks long gone- about Reyn’s chest, punctured by the Arachno queen of Tephra Cave, or Fiora, falling from Galahad Fortress, crushed by her own alien machinery. Halfway through the hasty notation, Shulk’s hand would still, and he would laugh, overcome with relief. 

But afterwards, he couldn’t go back to sleep.

That was when Shulk found himself wandering to his lab, or Junks, or any secluded place where he could fidget with some half-hearted project. It was always too late at night for any of his friends to be awake, and Shulk found himself avoiding the night-dwelling citizens anyways. He preferred to be alone in times like this.

Because, as he often thought, snapping gears and levers in and out of place, how could they possibly understand? He didn’t blame the others for it, but they couldn’t see what Shulk could. They hadn’t witnessed the deaths reverbating in Shulk’s mind every night, and the echoes that followed every time he closed his eyes. They didn’t live in the constant, oppressive presence of blood-torn limbs and glassy, blank eyes.

It had been easier to compartmentalize before Shulk gained his perfect sight. Visions were just a part of battles- one that stayed with Shulk, and visited him in his sleep, but still distinct from everyday life. Now, however, he was just as likely to see Dunban concussed by the fist of a Gogol as he was to see the man slip off of Colony 6’s watchtower, or crushed by a carrier in the fields just outside. 

Death had become inescapable.

Shulk snapped open a compartment on the monado replica, examining the wiring within. Tonight was especially bad. 

He had theorized that the constant, horrifying nature of the visions was Zanza’s doing in some way, meant to demoralize and frighten him. It was scary to admit how successful they were in fraying his nerves, tugging at him until he snapped at his friends in seemingly inane moments. 

But Fiora, chuckling at his outburst, hadn’t forseen the knife she was cooking with plunging into her skin. 

No, Shulk’s friends couldn’t understand, no matter how often they offered to listen or help. Besides, Shulk knew firsthand the suffering his foresight had caused, and how heavily the constant thoughts weighed on his mind. He wasn’t selfish enough to pass his burden along to the people he loved, when it was his and his alone.

His friends knew the risks of fighting already. Why should they have to live with a constant reminder? 

Shulk clicked the monado on and off again. And then there were the real deaths. 

Kalian, Egil, Meyneth- Shulk had been told, in retrospect, about their final words and wishes, the strength of their belief in him. He knew that they had died for his sake, shielding him with the crumbling Mechonis or levelling their final attacks onto Lorithia.

That was worst of all- dwelling on the lives already lost. People who Shulk should have saved, but instead saved him. It was a pain Shulk alone carried.

He couldn’t stand the thought of any of his team members doing the same. 

Shulk set down the replica at last, a sigh brushing past his lips as he tilted his head upwards. The stars were as beautiful as they always were from Colony 6. 

It felt wrong to stay here. The rebuilt colony was a saccharine paradise, filled with grassy fields, excited children, and cooperative, loving neighbors. The senseless slaughter of the outside, the dwelling of horrifying monsters and overbearing gods, was a mere memory in this place.

Shulk felt useless here, among the peace. 

Staring up into the night sky, echoes of Alvis’ words sounded in his ears.

“Does this world belong to you, or to Zanza?” 

It was never a question if the world belonged to Homs as a whole, or Shulk’s team, or beings of the Bionis. The responsibility fell on only one person: Shulk. Him alone. 

That was why, Shulk realized, he had to do this alone. 

Fiora’s brow furrowed when he told her about his plans.

“Colony 9?” She repeated. “Did you want us to train there? Or maybe… pick up some supplies?” 

“Alone,” Shulk clarified. He fiddled with the handle of the replica. “I wanted to visit alone.” 

Perhaps it was a sign, that being forced to abuse the trust of his friends like this meant that his actions were wrong, but it was too late for Shulk to turn back now. Even if they won against Zanza, even if the world became a better place, if he lost even one friend in the battle Shulk would never forgive himself. 

“Shulk…” 

Fiora scooted closer on the bench. “You’ve been so quiet lately.”

“That’s why I need some time to myself.” Shulk forced a smile onto his face. “Right?” 

Fiora chewed on her lip. “It might be good if we could help you.” 

“I’m fine, Fiora.” Shulk said, standing. “I didn’t want you to worry if I’m gone for a few days, that’s all.”

“Well…” Fiora exhaled. “Okay then. Make sure to say hi to everyone, alright?”

“Alright,” Shulk said, and walked away before he could think better of his decision.

The journey to Prison Island was a long one, if more arduous than threatening. Most monsters didn’t trouble Shulk, for how powerful he had become, and the few bold enough to try were easy to dodge with his foresight. 

Things became more difficult when Shulk actually entered the citadel, immediately beset by every creature roaming the halls. He was certain that he could fight his way to the top, but the prolonged battle still took every bit of his concentration and exertion. 

Shulk finally reached the transporter at the end of the dining hall with staggering steps, breathing heavily. He was well-accustomed to long, grueling fights, but was only now realizing how often he relied on his team for assistance. His own healing skills were paltry in comparison, and he found himself missing even the simple encouraging words from his friends.

However, it was better to arrive exhausted and spent at this arena than be forced to watch his friends in constant mortal peril, whipping his head around in a frenzy to see who had cried out in pain this time. Shulk was certain that after just a few of those visions the monado would feel heavier in his hands than it did now, dragging along the stone floor with a metallic scream.

The smug smile on Dickson’s face dipped when he saw Shulk, dueling with an uncharacteristic look of concern. Despite how far away Dickson stood, their eyes met quickly. All Shulk could think was that despite his vantage point in the stands, Dickson looked small and alone up there. 

Dickson finally spoke.

“You look like you’ve just pulled an all-nighter at the-“

“At the lab?” Shulk finished. “Yeah.” 

Those memories were more painful than any wounds he’d sustained. Dickson had never been warm, but Shulk knew, deep down, that despite anything he may say or convince himself, he had cared. He’d woken up his ward, fast asleep in the lab, and convinced him home more times than he needed to.

“Don’t think I’ll go easy on you.” 

The phrase could have been playful, but Dickson held the cigar up to his lips with concentration plain on his face.

“Pity isn’t your style.” Shulk agreed. 

The walls surrounding them shuddered as the prison bars along them retracted. Snarling filled Shulk’s ears, but even the imminent threat couldn’t pull his gaze away from the man who had raised him. 

Dickson turned and left abruptly. Shulk hadn’t expected kindness- he had said as much- but the briskness with which Dickson abandoned him still stung. 

And yet, Shulk knew why he had left. He knew why Dickson had pitted Shulk against the Obart, and the Dragon King. 

“You don’t want to fight.” Shulk said when he reached the terrace. 

Dickson’s arms were folded on his chest. He tilted his chin up slightly, and opened an eye. 

“You sure about that, kid?” He scoffed. “You look a hell of a lot worse than me.”

The dragon’s claws had torn through Shulk’s left sleeve, and there was a gash along his leg that he couldn’t stop from bleeding. Shulk was more exhausted than ever, with fresh sweat beading along his forehead and chest. 

But he still shook his head.

“You aren’t scared to lose.” Shulk clarified. “But fighting… whether you win or lose, it doesn’t matter. You’re still afraid.”

“Afraid.” Dickson laughed. “As though an old geezer like me would care.” 

“Then why have me fight these others?” Shulk gestured with one hand, the other leaning on the monado for support. “It makes no sense, unless…”

“Don’t tell me you don’t understand a simple tactic like weakening your enemy.” Dickson stood at his full height, slinging his arm to the back of his neck. “It’s like I never taught ya anything at all.”

“If all you wanted was a good fight, why let monsters take all the glory?” Shulk shot back. “Dickson, we’ve been through enough to be honest.” 

Dickson stepped forwards suddenly, face twisted in anger. 

“That’s enough yappin’-!” 

“You’ve let me talk for this long,” Shulk said with a breathless laugh. “If you wanted me dead, you could have killed me easily.”

With that, Shulk opened his fist, and let the monado clatter to the floor.

He met Dickson’s stare with bold eyes. Shulk should have felt afraid, vulnerable and weakened, but he didn’t. 

Thunder sounded somewhere in the distance.

“Just like you,” Dickson sighed in defeat, dropping his gaze at last. “To come up with a damn theory about me.” 

Shulk could have melted in relief. He hadn’t been enthusiastic to duel Dickson either.

“My quarrel is with Zanza,” Shulk said. “Let me face him.” 

“You think you can beat him like that?” Dickson asked, pulling back into the shadows and leaning against the wall. He exhaled a long line of smoke. “He ain’t a pushover like me.” 

“So you don’t want me to die after all.” Shulk said, smile weak.

Rain had begun to fall, light droplets on Shulk’s nose at first, but a violent downpour before long. It was just like Shulk’s first visit to Prison Island, the day he had set Zanza free on the world.

Today, Shulk was going to finish it.

“I have the monado,” Shulk explained, as he knelt down to pick the sword up. “And… I have no choice but to succeed.” 

He looked up at the sudden whooshing noise. Just before Shulk, a teleporter fizzled into existence.

“You can try.” Dickson said simply.

Shulk longed to say something in return, but knew better than to press his luck. He stepped onto the bright green square as quickly as he could.

As it hummed around his ears, and the world changed around him, Shulk could have sworn that he heard Dickson saying goodbye.

Space was as empty as he remembered it, especially without Alvis anywhere in sight. It was only then that Shulk realized how heavy his soaked clothing was, stumbling through the stars blindly as he attempted to wring out the lower half of his sweater. 

It was cold in space, particularly since Shulk was damp, but he moved on anyways. His knuckles clenched white around the replica monado as he trudged forwards, memories crisp as photographs in his mind. 

He had seen this very duel many times- had seen Riki, the adopted father he never had, slashed in two by Zanza’s twin monados, and Melia, who had lost so much already, caught off-guard by the world reforming around them, and crushed by part of the crumbling Bionis. 

Shulk had grieved his friends more times than they could ever know, but now, he was sworn to end their suffering. 

“Shulk.”

Shulk paused at Alvis’ voice, scanning the planets around him to try and spot his lithe advisor.

“The path you embark upon…” Pain sounded in Alvis’ words. “It is not… advisable.”

Shulk ran his thumb along the hilt of the replica.

“I thought you had faith in me, Alvis.” 

“A… simple way of perceiving things.” Alvis said hesitantly. “You possess the capacity to win, however this does not mean that you would always succeed in your goal.”

Shulk hefted the monado up, holding it out in preparation. His grip was steady, and though his legs shook, he was still upright.

He was tired, and nervous, but those things didn’t matter anymore.

“I can’t turn back now, can I?” Shulk asked. “I have to succeed, for this world.” 

Before Alvis could respond, he stepped through the last of the portals, and into Zanza’s realm. 

It was bright, with Zanza afloat at the galaxy’s heart, shining like a thousand suns. All at once, Shulk’s mind was flooded with futures- every single one of the myriad ways in which Zanza could instantly end his life- and he stumbled backwards. 

Shulk never thought he would die like this. 

In but an instant the monado, his own sword, and the key to his power and success, had been buried into his chest, plunged there by the golden hands of his lookalike without even a sound. 

It hadn’t hurt, at first. All Shulk remembered was the blunt force of the impact, sending him staggering back, and the intense shudder of every nerve in his body. The pain hadn’t begun until he froze, pinned in place, and looked down at the spike lodged in his body.

Ah, Shulk thought. That wasn’t good.

A cruel grin erupted on Zanza’s face, and Shulk felt himself lurch as the sword was driven deeper into him. All at once, it was as though his body was burning, like stepping directly into the lava of the cave on Valak Mountain. One of Zanza’s hands left the hilt and came to rest on the small of Shulk’s back, keeping him in place even as he squirmed in pain. 

“How…” Shulk wheezed, winded by blunt force, “…could you?” 

“That is the power of a god.” Zanza’s voice boomed in an ill-fated attempt at intimidation. “To eliminate any life he so chooses.” 

“Not… how.” Shulk coughed. Blood welled up in his mouth, thick and metallic. “…why?”

“Why?” Zanza’s expression turned dumbfounded. “You stand before me on the verge of death, and ask questions you already know the answers to?” 

Shulk shook his head. This was so much more than Zanza’s quest for domination. 

“We could have… lived in peace.” Shulk explained. “There’s still… time.” 

His hands shook around the groove of the sword where they clenched around the cold metal, attempting in weak vain to push the monado back. 

He didn’t believe that Zanza would pursue the opportunity, but he had to try. 

“It is a shame.” Zanza agreed, much to Shulk’s surprise. “I could have satisfied you in a life of worship, Shulk. The meaning you searched so desperately for would be easy to attain, if only you dedicated yourself to me.”

Shulk laughed in disbelief. It was just like Zanza to assume that Shulk would be better off with him.

“You still don’t… understand.” 

“It is hardly a matter of understanding.” Zanza sighed. “Challenging a god is an unforgivable act of hubris. You left me no choice in the matter.”

Shulk shuddered when Zanza moved closer, with a mockery of sadness carved deeply upon his face. 

“I did not wish you dead.” Zanza’s eyes rested on Shulk’s. “You may doubt me, but I have no cause to lie. I prefer you living.” 

Shulk’s lip curled at the irony. Zanza couldn’t say that with his sword in Shulk’s chest, cradling Shulk’s dying body.

“I- no, we,” Zanza corrected himself, other hand leaving the hilt of the sword. “We could have been content.” 

His thumb brushed against Shulk’s cheek, smearing a trickle of blood away from his mouth. 

“Never.” Shulk clung onto the sword, though it cut deep into his palms, pressing it backwards with the absence of Zanza’s grip. “I would… never be happy… living, but not alive.” 

“You would learn to appreciate me.” Zanza peered down at Shulk, frowning. Anger burned in Shulk’s stomach at the sheer confidence of the statement. 

“However…” Zanza sighed, his own frustration dissipating. He ran his fingers, wet with blood, along Shulk’s hair. “If you continue to oppose me so vehemently, perhaps it is better for you to be dead. If I cannot have you…” 

His hand travelled down Shulk’s chest. “Well.”

“You’ve…” Shulk froze at the implication. “You’ve lost your mind” 

Zanza’s fingers continued nevertheless, curving along Shulk’s hip before clenching around his thigh. Shulk hissed at the bite of sharp nails against his skin.

Zanza’s mouth stopped just above his.

“We haven’t been alone in so long, Shulk,” Zanza murmured. 

Before Shulk’s heart could beat through his chest Zanza drew back, surveying Shulk from a distance with cold blue eyes.

“Yet how fitting, that you should die by my hand alone.” 

Alone. The word ricocheted around in Shulk’s strained mind. He had felt so alone, on this long journey to the god’s domain.

Shulk felt his eyes, now unbearably heavy, begin to fall shut.

This had been a grave mistake.


End file.
